


A Lesson Learned

by Venivincere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, graphic depictions of corporal punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge: Snape catches Harry sneaking into his office at night, again. Remember what Snape said in the book? 'One more night-time stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!' But Snape's punishment gets out of hand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HPCFC Challenge held at the hpchan LJ community in the summer of 2003. Switchknife wanted one of the three following quotes in here, but I couldn't resist - I used all three: Excerpt A: 'Don't lie to me,' Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. 'Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.' Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink, or to look guilty. Excerpt B: Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him... Excerpt C: '... trapped, Harry leant backwards, trying to avoid Snape's fingertips...'
> 
> After the fest, this fic was uploaded to Skyhawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=395 on July 29, 3003.

PART ONE

 

Detention with Ron was worse than detention alone. Harry reckoned just about everything was worse since he and Ron weren't speaking anymore. Bored with measuring salt and pouring vinegar into jars packed with rat's brains and wanting to distract himself from Ron's stony silence, Harry took to examining Snape's workroom. Shelves of dusty jars lined the walls over soapstone counters. Strange metal coils and oddly-shaped glass beakers lined the counters, interspersed with deep stone basins surrounded by a variety of taps. Torches burned everywhere, flooding the room with light.

Snape himself was in the corner, hunched over a cauldron. He hadn't stopped stirring the steaming, tar-like potion since growling directions and setting the two of them to work, and that was over an hour ago. Harry marveled at this. Snape's arms and shoulders were slender, like the rest of him. Where was the muscle to keep up that sort of activity without rest, or even a variance of pace? Maybe Snape was like Harry himself. Though still slight and slender, child-like for all his 14 years, Harry's arms and legs, really his whole body was hard from Quidditch. Snape must be hard, too, from years of the rigidly-controlled actions required of master-level brewing. Harry had the sudden urge to run his hands over Snape's shoulders and arms to find out.

Before he could register disgust for the strange turn his thoughts had taken, Ron shoved another jar of rat's brains into his hands and he wearily resumed pickling.

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The second task was finished and the third a comfortable length of time away, but Harry was determined not to get caught flat-footed again. He spent hours and hours in the library looking up hexes, curses and counter curses. There were thousands of them. Thousands of  _books_  on them, actually, rows upon rows, whole stacks devoted to attacking and defending against one's fellow witches and wizards. He would never be able to read even a fraction of them by the time the third task arrived. And without knowing what the task entailed, how could he narrow his search? Weary of the effort, he sighed, shut  _Curse Your Cursors - Effective Counter-curses for the Chronically Hexed_ , and leaned across the library table toward Ron and Hermione, determined to enlist their aid.

"It's obvious, Harry," said Hermione, when he had explained his problem, "what you need is a Concentration Draught. It's a very potent potion which allows you to pay such close attention to whatever you're doing that the experience imprints itself indelibly on your memory."

"Really, then?" Ron was excited. "So if I'd taken a Concentration Draught right before the World Cup, I would've remembered every detail of the whole match?" His eyes drifted far away.

Hermione glared at Ron. "I shouldn't think you'd have needed any sort of potion for  _that_  Ron, the way you go on about it!" Ron scowled.

But Harry was curious as well. "Do you mean that if I were to take this potion and read over the curses once, I should know them perfectly?"

"In theory, yes," answered Hermione, "but the potion itself, if you can find it, is very expensive and it's difficult to make correctly. For starters, it requires the root of the magical oleander harvested at the new moon. You can't just get that anywhere." Harry's face fell.

And perked up again, immediately. "If I won't be able to purchase the Draught, d'you think I could I make it?" asked Harry, hopefully.

"Possibly," said Hermione, hesitantly, "but the only place I would guess you could find the oleander root is Knockturn Alley. It's more commonly used in Dark potions."

"Never mind that," said Harry, "I know where to get some: Snape's stores." Ron turned to look at him, eyes wide. Harry stared back. "Remember when we pickled rat's brains during detention with Snape? I got the salt and vinegar from his stores while you were setting out jars. I know I saw oleander root while I was in there."

"But Harry," Hermione said, "even though it isn't very complicated to make, the potion requires constant attention. The unfinished draught is terribly caustic and will melt the cauldron and everything around it if ingredients aren't added precisely to schedule. And you'd have to make quite a large batch of it if you plan to study every day. The effects only last about four hours. Will you have time to do it properly?"

Pensively, Harry bit his lip. He  _hadn't_  the time, really, but he knew he would have to make time if he wanted a fighting chance at the third task. Still, he looked at Hermione hopefully. "If I can get the oleander root, would you help me make the potion?"

Hermione frowned. "Snape will know someone's been in his stores again," she said. "He's bound to blame you," she looked over at Ron, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Harry, mate, she's right," said Ron. "If you get in trouble now and have to spend all your time in detention, you'll never have time to prepare..." He broke off, glancing worriedly at Hermione, who nodded back. But one look across the table at Harry, lips drawn in a thin line, middle finger pushing up the frames of his drooping spectacles in a picture of determination, stiffened their resolve.

"Harry, we're willing to help you," said Hermione. "But are you  _sure_  you want to take the risk?"

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The storeroom door closed behind him with a tiny click, and it was only then that Harry dared take a full breath. He exhaled with a shudder of relief and leapt quickly up the dungeon corridor, passing no one, knuckly fingers full of oleander root. In minutes he was pausing at the portrait of the Fat Lady (" _ars brevis_ "), climbing through, and quietly transferring his handful of goods into Hermione's bag. She nudged his invisible form with the side of her knee, he tapped her arm in response, then slipped up the stairs and back into bed.

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Harry was so engrossed in examining Snape's shoulders as he swept around the dungeon classroom at the end of Double Potions on Friday, peering into cauldrons and marking in a slim, black volume, that Ron noticed.

"Harry," Ron elbowed him, "you'll need your wand if you're trying to curse him." Harry sniggered, but was secretly appalled to have been caught staring. And what in the wizarding world was he doing looking, anyway? He felt a flutter in his stomach as Snape approached.

"Potter!" he barked, and shot him a particularly venomous stare. "You will stay after the lesson has finished." He glanced into Harry's cauldron and moved on.

For a moment, Harry thought Snape was on about staring at him. But his heart sank, remembering the oleander root. He tried his best to look perplexed and asked "Why, professor? My Soothing Syrup turned out fine..."

Snape whirled around to face him, robes billowing. "Silence!" he snarled. "You will find out when I am ready for you to find out. And five points from Gryffindor. Really Potter, you ought to know better than to question me by now."

He spent the rest of class wondering how much detention he would get, tucked behind his cauldron and fuming just as much as it.

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Harry stood defiantly in front of Snape's lectern, which Snape loomed over in a towering rage.

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them." Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink, or to look guilty. After all, Hermione and Dobby actually committed those particular thefts, even if Harry  _was_  partially responsible.

"And now you have the appalling nerve to steal my oleander root!" Snape was quickly becoming apoplectic with rage. "Do you have  _any_  idea of its uses, Potter? Do you know how much damage would be caused if even a quarter of what you took were to get into the wrong hands?" Snape breathed heavily through his mouth, and Harry, quite startled, watched Snape shudder violently and fall silent. His reaction to Harry's crime was markedly uncharacteristic enough to cause Harry to think again about the oleander root.

In fact, Harry  _didn't_  know what kind of damage could be done with it, aside from melting everything in sight if the brewing of the Concentration Draught went wrong, but after four years of potions he could imagine just how devastating it might be. His eyes lowered and he felt a touch of nausea curl in his stomach.

"Chaos, Potter," Snape continued in lowered (frightened?) voice, a sick look on his face, as though his stomach churned. "Utter mayhem!" He moved quickly from behind the lectern, and so exposed, looked suddenly menacing to Harry, who once again stared wide-eyed at Snape.

"You  _will_  be punished, Potter." Snape's composure was returning, and his eyes glinted. "You may be Dumbledore's special pet, but that will  _not_  allow you to escape the consequences this time."

"I am not his  _pet_ ," Harry shouted, anger flashing in his eyes, but despite his vehemence he found himself twisting his fingers in the sleeves of his robes; apparently he would be getting more detention than he thought. It was suddenly borne in upon him that his offence might be more serious than that - perhaps it was serious enough to get him expelled! Harry's eyes widened.

"Careful, Potter," Snape grinned evilly. He looked as though he knew what Harry was thinking.

"The ministry would be forced to act, Potter, if they ever found out," Snape continued. Expulsion means  _nothing_." He was practically shouting again now. "You would be spending the rest of your days in  _Azkaban_  if they ever find out!" Again he grinned, and his eyes bored into Harry's. He stayed that way several moments, then his voice lowered dramatically. "What am I going to do with you, Harry?" Harry clutched his stomach, suddenly quite nauseated.

Snape did not issue a pronouncement immediately. He stood for a full minute, looming over Harry, clenching and unclenching his fists, and the glint in his eyes intensified as they roamed almost voraciously over Harry's slight frame. Harry grew quite uncomfortable under Snape's fevered scrutiny. He fidgeted, but the front row of desks was directly behind him and he couldn't back away. Surely Snape wouldn't hit him? But Harry was no longer certain this was so. He began to feel the first stirrings of fear. His palms began to sweat, and he twisted his fingers further into his robe. His eyes locked on the flexing muscles of Snape's arm., but that only made him more tense. Or something. He certainly  _felt_  more flushed.

Snape noticed. He wrenched his eyes back to Harry's, a new light in them. Harry caught the movement in the corner of his eye and looked up: he gulped - and his heart suddenly raced.

"What am I going to do with you?" Snape asked again, but Harry suspected Snape already knew. Harry, at least, guessed. He blanched as Snape moved his face closer to his own and growled "Detention doesn't seem to stop you. Neither does losing House points." Here, the beginnings of a feral grin appeared. "I could turn you over to Filch and his chains, Potter, would you like that?"

Harry stared silently, not even daring to shake his head, even though he knew Filch hadn't the authority. Snape continued "But I don't think I will. I could beat you myself, Potter, and don't think that I wouldn't," here he moved even closer, "issuing you a  _thorough spanking_  might be quite enjoyable, in fact," the grin appeared full force, and now their noses were almost touching, "but I won't. I'd rather not have to explain the marks." Harry exhaled onto Snape's chin, unaware he had been holding his breath, and breathed deeply through his nose. Bizarrely, Harry wondered what he'd been brewing last - Snape smelled of garden loam and the smothery, metallic tang of blood. "But there are  _other_  ways of marking you, Potter,  _other_  ways that don't show." Harry waited, breathlessly.

"You have caused me a great deal of unnecessary trouble since you arrived at this school. You have been a continual source of annoyance to me." His voice rose as he continued. " _You have crossed one too many lines this time, Mr. Potter_." The feral grin widened. "And now  _I_  shall cross one!"

Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him! But no... Harry watched, exsanguinating fear and something else gluing him to the spot as Snape's trousers dropped below the hem of his robes and were toed off along with his boots, first the left leg, then the right, then kicked viciously between the bowed legs of the lectern. Snape advanced toward Harry, rucking up the front of his robe, his grin illuminating his face with an impassioned, demonic light. Harry couldn't take his eyes off Snape's middle. The hem of the robe collected in folds in Snape's fists, rising inexorably higher. Harry gasped with renewed breath as the very edge of the hem slipped above the tip of Snape's thick, dusky cock - and the blood came rushing back, warming him, and oh, God, pooling in his groin and hardening him! Harry stumbled backward and made to turn and run, but the edge of a desk caught him under the buttocks and held him in place. Trapped, Harry leant backwards, trying to avoid Snape's fingertips just long enough to twist away, but too late: Snape's fingers rested on Harry's chest as he ground himself against Harry's knees, trying to separate them. Harry clenched his legs together and strangled a shriek.

His slender arms batted the one pushing him backward onto the desk. A part of his brain registered that Snape's arms  _were_  strong, just as muscled and hard as his own, and suddenly he discovered he was squeezing Snape's arm, not pushing, not pushing at all! He yanked his hands back as though they'd been burnt.

Snape whipped out his wand with his other hand and cast a locking and silencing spell on the classroom door. Harry's small hands scrambled now on the smooth, worn edge of the wood, desperately trying to lever his joined legs up and push Snape away, but angle of his arms kept them too close to the edge to gain purchase. His fingers slipped on the granular remains of a long-dried potion. He heard Snape's wand clatter to the floor and felt firm abdominal muscles flex on his clenched knees as he leant to fetch it. They were just as hard as Snape's arms... This new thought and the changing pressure on his knees was enough to unbalance him; he spread his slender legs in an autonomic bid for balance, clutching once again the arm holding him down, and with horror, knew in that moment he was lost - Snape rose with the wand in his hand and slipped snake-like between Harry's shaking limbs, and oh, God! His erection was suddenly pressing firmly into Harry's balls, snug like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle joined with its mates. Harry's blood suddenly buzzed through his body, and with a sickening swoop of shame, lust and anticipation realized his own half-hardened cock was rising swiftly to meet it.

"What are you... I've never - I mean..." His left hand dropped, his right still clutched Snape's elbow; his voice trailed off, his face colored deeply - and suddenly he lay very still, eyes on the face dominating his vision, feeling the hard bone beneath his fingers and for the first time completely and viscerally aware of Severus Snape. The sleeve of his robe slid up the slender arm still gripping Snape's to puddle around his elbow. The pink tip of his tongue darted out to moisten suddenly-dry lips.

Snape's breath caught in his throat. The sound of it woke Harry's skin. A wave of prickles washed over the surface of him and receded; he was suddenly aware of the weave of his trousers pressing in folds into the smooth skin of his inner thigh, the slightly damp roughness of his collar rubbing the soft skin of his neck behind his ear, Snape's fingernails scraping through his robes into his chest. Each humid thread of his cotton Y-fronts dug tightly into his painfully hard cock.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Potter," he spoke through his grin. "It seems you are not yet  _thoroughly_  spoilt. I shouldn't have imagined it, considering the sizeable number of fans you have worked to acquire at this school."

Harry's eyes blazed. He did not go  _encouraging_  - !

Oh, Lord!  _What_  was  _that_? His mouth, open to issue an outraged denial, issued a throaty gasp instead as Snape's hand slowly squeezed around his pulsing, aching cock. Ahhh, and now he was rubbing it!

"Whatever is the matter, Mr. Potter? None of the fawning young women to your taste? Or are you holding out for someone too wise to be wooed by your more obvious charms?" With this, Snape curled his lip and gave Harry's erection an extra firm tweak. Harry was too busy riding the waves of pleasure radiating from his groin to respond sensibly to Snape's jibe; he managed "Hnnng!" while he squeezed his buttocks together and tilted his hips up, pressing harder into Snape's merciful hand, his hand that kept squeezing and pressing, and pushing and jerking, and Harry was thrashing his legs and oh, God! It wasn't - he'd only ever done it at night, in his dreams, waking wet and embarrassed, but here he was right now,  _coming_ , in thick, spurting strands, each pulse slicking his damp, tented Y-fronts that rubbed on the head of his cock still convulsing in Snape's careful grip...

At last he lay still, his cock throbbing and sticky in his pants, face flushed like a little girl's. He opened his eyes, unaware when they had closed, and found his hands wrapped around Snape's wrist, as though he had been guiding it, guarding it from distraction. He rubbed his thumb along the smooth rise of his wrist bone; the soft, black hairs there felt like smoothest silk.

 

PART TWO

They rested like that for a moment, Snape reveling in that smallest of caresses, squeezing his own balls between his thighs to stave off orgasm yet awhile longer. Then he gave a pat to the spreading, wet patch on the front of Harry's jeans and withdrew his hand. Harry whimpered.

Oh, that sound! He felt the uncommon urge to award points for it as he immediately clapped the hand to the base of his own cock and squeezed, just in time. He got his breathing under control and commanded "Remove your clothing, Mr. Potter." A flick of his wand removed his own robe, and he stood there in his shirtsleeves, itching with anticipation, his erection tenting the finely-buttoned front of his shirt.

He watched Harry push himself up and slide off the desk, the toes of one foot touching down first, the other foot following with a twist of his hips. Snape backed up a step giving Harry room to stand, then glowered at him, though he could hardly be disappointed in Harry's response so far. And oh, those wide, green,  _pleading_  eyes! It was just about more than he could stand. Mercy, indeed. Well, he'd been such a delicious experiment so far, perhaps a little mercy  _was_  in order. Not that it would do to show it  _this_  early. He plunged his hand into his voluminous robes again, and again pushed his balls back between his legs and squeezed, then crossed his arms and stared back stonily at Potter. "Well, get on with it!" he commanded. He watched Harry dither a bit more then come to the realization he would have to comply. He squeezed his legs harder together as Harry raised a shaky hand to his collar and began quickly to unfasten the buttons of his robe. "Just slide it off, Mr. Potter." Harry, startled, yanked each sleeve in turn, and was already working on the buttons of his baggy jeans by the time the robe pooled at his feet.

Another command: "Face down on the desk, Mr. Potter." Snape shifted the heel of his hand to press at the base of his cock as he watched Harry stand there, bewildered, his small, naked body still weak and trembling from what was probably his first orgasm in front of anybody,  _ever_ , and "Ungh!" the amazing recover power of youth - his breath caught in his throat as he realized Harry's penis was beginning to stir again. Snape, now horribly impatient with need, shouted "Now!" at him and backed away another step; Harry obeyed with enough alacrity to belie the shamed and hating look Snape caught from him. Snape saw this almost gleefully, but immediately winced when Harry's penis, mostly hard again, grated on the cracked, roughened edge of the desk as he obediently lay down upon it. It must have been as painful as he thought; Harry yelped. Snape, with the speed of a seeker, reached around with his free hand, and tilting Harry's hip up, yanked his penis down over the edge of the desk. The touch of his hand instantly hardened Harry the rest of the way. When Snape let go, Harry's penis snapped back quickly, the velvety, over-sensitized organ halting head-down in its progress, smacking the side of the desk with a small thud. Harry yelped again. Snape was suddenly very aware of the front of his shirt rubbing wetly against the tip of his leaking cock.

Snape admired the vertical display, set out like the plates of plastic food displayed on the walls of the tackier muggle restaurants. Not that this vision of Potter laid out for his singular consumption was anywhere near tacky; and frankly, the thought of its salability made him shudder - but this feast was not for sale. Indeed, it couldn't be more unlike the commercial and public satiation of hunger, even though the delicious feast laid out before him fed just as basic a need. He felt more like a spider who has finally managed to capture her preferred prey, after much stinging and sticky manipulation. But sticky wasn't what he wanted just now. Snape held out his wand and muttered " _Accio_  lubricant," then leant back and tossed the wand on his desk while a small stoppered vial zoomed toward him from across the room.

The vial slapped into the palm of his hand. He removed the stopper with his thumb and forefinger and poured half the thick, oily contents liberally over his straining erection, other hand still tightly gripping the base of it. He re-stoppered the vial, set it carefully on the desk beside Harry's right ear, and spread the slickness around his cock while furiously thinking of pickled frog's brains and focusing his gaze resolutely on the shelves of jars at the back of the class - after all, it wouldn't do to come _now_. He managed to subdue his desire to a manageable level, spread the remaining oil over the fingers of both hands, drew in a deep breath, and gently slid his fingers up and down between the smooth, honeyed globes of Potter's ass.

Hot, sweet perfection. And so was the moan Potter emitted, vibrating straight through Snape to his cock. The tiniest glow of moisture appeared on Potter's skin. At the tip of Potter's cock a tiny bead of precum swelled; Snape watched, enrapt, as the weight of it drew it downward, still attached by an elongating string, before separating in the middle and dropping with the tiniest of splashes on the cold, stone floor, the remainder springing back to bead and swell again in the slit of Potter's cock. Ah, beautiful. But perhaps a better view… "Spread your legs," he commanded, and he was rewarded with that moan again, as Potter complied. Snape fought hard not to come in his shirtfront as those slender, never-ending legs spread as wide as possible, hands reaching up in front of him to grab the edge of the desk for balance, toes barely touching the floor. Potter's, tiny, wrinkled hole winked shyly between the cheeks, and his pink-flushed balls were fully visible now, pressed against the base of his cock. Snape moved his fingers to circle the hole, producing more delicious moans from Potter and making the little pucker glisten in the bright torchlight of the classroom. He pulled his fingers back slightly to admire the effect.

Then popped his index finger in up to the first knuckle.

Potter gasped. His muscles clenched against the intrusion, and he squirmed even further onto the desk to get away from it. The sight of his futile struggling pushed Snape to the very edge. He stood there, still, trying to hold back… Potter uttered an exasperated "hmmf!" and gave a last, frustrated wriggle -the movement pushed Snape's wrist back to brush over the tip of his erection and suddenly he felt his passion rising like carbonation in his blood, bubbling through his muscles and out through the surface of his skin, and he was coming unstoppably - hips rhythmically thrusting his cock against the front of his shirt, hot semen coating the inside of his button seams and sticking wetly to the smooth skin of his stomach.

He struggled to get his shaking knees under control, saying nothing, drawing measured, deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth. Just a minor dent in his plans. Just a delay. He  _would_  have Potter. Today. A small, anticipatory smile curled his lip.

He carefully pushed his finger in to the second knuckle. Again, the useless wiggling, and now Potter was whimpering, too. "Does it hurt?" he asked. He'd meant it as a dig, as a means to gloat - but it came out husky, almost gentle. Hmmm. He'd have to rectify that. Perhaps a little distraction…

"N-no…it's - why? - it's uncomfortable - " Potter left off there; Snape was pushing in further and circling with the base of his finger, stretching the ring of muscle. He took aim with his free hand and slapped a rough, red print on Potter's ass. As Potter let out a thoroughly startled squeal, he slipped in another finger beside the first, and pushed them both as far as they would go. He held them still for a moment, the only slight movement coming from Potter's heaving breaths. Snape looked up at the side of Potter's face. Apparently, the distraction had worked - there was a small pool of tears collecting in the hollow of his eye near the bridge of his nose. Snape felt a tingle in his stomach and he was hardening once more.

Humiliation was fine, but he was honest with Potter when he said he didn't want to leave marks that showed. He didn't really want to hurt him, just teach him a lesson he would never, ever forget. To these ends, he circled his fingers slowly in Potter's tight, hot ass, setting up a slow, soothing rhythm and gently relaxing and stretching him. Potter sniffled. Snape heard, and hardened completely.

He moved forward, lifting the hem of his shirt with one hand and pulling the fingers of his other out of Potter's ass to aim himself. And then Potter sighed, a little disappointed sound, which aroused Snape so deliriously he lost every bit of patience and thrust himself in immediately up to the root.

Potter screamed.

Snape held very still, Potter's hips in a death grip, struggling again not to come too soon.

Potter's hitching breaths eventually slowed, and the urgency of Snape's desire waned enough to withstand some slow, even stroking. Potter whimpered. Delicious.

And then he panted.

Even better.

And suddenly he was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Harder!" and Snape was thrusting as hard as he could, intense lust driving him out of his reckoning, and suddenly Potter's ring of muscle clamped around the base of his cock, semen shooting to the floor and slashing between Snape's feet, and Snape was shooting too, bathing Potter's insides with hot, liquid pulses…

He stood behind Potter for several moments, frozen in place, their breaths whispering a serried rhythm into the silence of the dungeon classroom.

He unclenched his hands from Potter's hips and was a little shocked to see the bruises there. Never mind, he'd heal them in a minute. No marks. He rested his hands to either side of Potter, and leaned down to press his mouth to Potter's ear. "Perhaps  _this_  is a lesson you will remember..." He was rather relieved to hear the biting, sarcastic tones returned to his voice.

He slid is softening cock out of Potter's ass and pushed himself upright. He turned on weakened limbs and reached back to his desk for his wand, healing the outward appearance of the bruises he left on Potter's hips, but leaving a little pain. This _was_ a punishment, after all. He flicked the tip of his wand across Potter's dripping crack, muttered " _Scourgify!_ " and commanded "Get up and get dressed, Mr. Potter. I'd better not see you here again." But his tone lacked conviction. In truth, he would love to see Potter's lithe, slender body exposed to him again, writhing underneath him,  _willingly_  underneath him - and how sick was he to suddenly want Potter to  _want_  him?

_Could_ he? Snape took a long, lingering look at Potter as he groaned and raised himself up from the desk, limbs shaking, the tip of his softening cock glistening with the remains of his orgasm, his countenance radiating his completely and thoroughly debauched state, and something else - ah, yes, a touch, a blush of shame. Snape's blood began to heat again, but his cock was too tired to rise. Just as well. Potter dressed quickly and shuffled out, leaving Snape to contemplate this latest twist in his already-kinky soul.

 

PART THREE

"No," insisted Harry. "It's too dangerous. You haven't started the potion, and I'm taking it back."

"But Harry," argued Hermione, "you've done the difficult part. I've already agreed to help with the brewing, and you've served your detention."

"Yeah, mate," said Ron, "if you take it back now, you risk Snape catching you again." Ron paused for a moment. "Harry, what happened to you with Snape? I mean, you really wanted this and now…look, you don't  _want_ to get caught, do you?"

Maybe he did, at that. Harry couldn't stifle a distracted little half-smile. Ron frowned, confused, but before he could start asking questions, Harry's smile turned grim as he wandered further back in the memory of that evening, seeing a normally unflappable, sarcastic Snape alternately rage-filled, and shuddering and speechless. And fearful. Harry said quietly "Snape said it was really dangerous. Enough to get me sent to Azkaban for stealing it. Look," he continued, "I want to win, and I really appreciate your willingness to help me, but I'm not risking Azkaban for any of us just for a stupid contest. I'm taking it back, and that's final."

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The storeroom door closed behind him with a tiny click, and again it was only then that Harry dared take a full breath. He exhaled with a shudder of relief and leapt quickly up the dungeon corridor, passing no one, knuckly fingers thankfully rid of the evidence. But his progress was suddenly impeded - he couldn't see anything in front of him except the torch lit corridor, and yet it felt as though he was trying to run through a vat of tingling honey. His legs slowed, and he felt himself pulled backward toward the storeroom. Harry stomach sank with dread. Snape must have placed a new ward.

The ward plastered him spread-eagled to the storeroom door, and continued to tingle. He heard a distant klaxon sound in another area of the dungeon. The tingling of the ward crept over his balls and he felt his cock begin to rise, and his robes tent out in front of him. Thank God for the invisibility cloak; as far as he could tell, he was still completely covered. Snape might take all night to release him, but no student would see him hanging there, erection prominently displayed in the frame of the storeroom door, while he waited. In the meantime, how to get down? He was struggling like some species of lepidoptera pinned alive to a board when Snape appeared at the end of the dungeon corridor, striding purposefully toward him.

"I  _know_ it's you, Potter," said Snape, as he approached. "No one  _else_ in this castle has one of those infernal cloaks." He swept up to the door and stopped directly in front of Harry, bare inches from his jutting erection. "What have you taken now, you fool?" he reached his hand up and palmed Harry's cheek with uncanny accuracy, until Harry realized Snape must be able to hear his breathing quite clearly. The touch, combined with the tingle of the ward felt excruciatingly sensuous, and without thinking, Harry leaned his head into the caress. He watched Snape's eyes widen slightly, then the mouth opened, and -

"Last time wasn't lesson enough, was it?" Snape smiled minutely, and his eyes lit up with some excitement - anticipation, maybe? Harry blushed to the roots of his hair, and his breathing sped up a bit - definitely anticipation on his own part, along with a dollop of fervent and vaguely sickening hope. Harry felt Snape's other hand roaming electrically over his body, and almost lost himself to surety on the matter, when he realized with a start that Snape was probably just looking for contraband. Harry was suddenly very thankful the wards had caught him on the way out, instead of in. But then again, Snape would want to make sure the culprit bore  _evidence_ of his criminal activities. With nothing to fear, Harry relaxed. He let the hand wander all over him regardless of Snape's intentions, causing his skin to spark and buzz and  _respond_  wherever it traveled. Everywhere Snape touched, the skin crackled into life and stayed that way, and Harry could feel the tracks of Snape's fruitless search burgeon upon his body, way joining with way over his chest and shoulders, and as far around the back as Snape could reach. He knelt between Harry's spread legs. Harry felt his cock jump as he realized Snape's lips were a bare inch away from it. Snape was oblivious to the fact as he continued his journey over Harry's hips and down outside of his legs to Harry's feet, and here Snape's mouth fell south a bit until Harry felt him running his hands up his inner thighs.

Harry sucked in a breath as Snape's hands halted just before his own mouth, hovering over Harry's aching hardness.

Then plunged right in, both mouth and hands, suddenly caressing everywhere, and it was better than Harry remembered - at least, he was upright this time, and he was facing Snape, he could watch him as he drove his mouth blindly onto the tip of Harry's clothed prick, he could watch as Snape's left hand attacked the base of his cock with a firm pressure, claiming the member as his own and calling it to attention, dragged down though it was by the weight of Harry's robes and over-large jeans. Harry panted and moaned, thankful for the deserted corridor, and just about lost himself in the sensation when Snape abruptly stood and leaned against him, mouth pressed to Harry's ear.

"Where is it, Potter?" he whispered.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about," Harry stammered back, just as quietly.

Snape gripped Harry's cock tightly in his hand and said "Don't lie to me, boy, you do. The wards wouldn't have caught you had you not been in the stores." He pulled back a bit and ran his free hand over Harry's enshrouded face. "Where is it?" he asked again, and then his eyes widened -

"You put it back, didn't you?" And here, Harry saw a genuine gleam of hope in Snape's eyes that startled him.

Before Harry could respond, Snape's wand was in his hand and he was issuing a complicated spell that set the door swinging open with Harry still firmly fastened to it. Snape ran to where the oleander root was stored, and let out what Harry could only describe as a whoop of joy when he found it all there, just as it had been before Harry had taken it. He watched, dumbfounded, as for the second time in as many days Snape broke the mold and sank back against the far wall, allowing genuine relief to roll off him in palpable waves. This display, more than anything so far, convinced Harry he had done the right thing in returning the oleander root.

Harry hung there for the next few minutes completely nonplussed, staring fixedly at Snape and shaking.

He watched as Snape recovered himself enough to stare intently at the door where Harry was pinned. "It seems you  _did_  learn something after all, Mr. Potter," the sneering tones burned familiarly after the cold shock of unvarnished Snape. "Yet as relieved as I am, I am rather surprised. I hadn't thought your Gryffindor pride would allow you to admit a mistake." However buried, Harry heard the compliment, and something else, as well - was it a note of disappointment? Though he didn't know why  _that_  would be there. Snape loathed him; he certainly didn't relish any time spent with Harry. Did he?

Harry thought. Why had Snape chosen just the punishment he did? Had he known it would work? And it had worked, in a way; Harry would never again steal anything without knowing as much about it as possible ahead of time. And he  _had_ returned the oleander root. No more punishments were necessary there. And at that, Harry felt an inexplicable emptiness.

A movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to Snape's wand. It waved to Snape's muttered  _exsolvio_ , and Harry found himself sliding to the storeroom floor.

"Go, Mr. Potter." Yes, definitely disappointed.

Harry rose shakily to his knees, and took one last look at Snape sitting back against the storeroom wall, knees drawn up and loosely encircled by those deceptively strong arms, long, slender fingers entwined.

He turned to leave, suddenly hopeful. There were always  _other_ unlearnt lessons.

~fin~


End file.
